‘Yes,’ confessed Daisy, taking a huge gulp of champagne. ‘One couldn’t not, but he’s only interested in Chessie, and I’m too old for him. I was six when he was born.’
‘And seven when I was born,’ said Drew.
‘I might have been allowed to give you your bottle.’
‘I can give you mine now,’ said Drew, topping up her glass.
Idly he picked up her sketch pad, immediately becoming transfixed with interest.
‘There’s Hermia and there’s Wayne! You’ve got his wicked eye to a T. Christ, they’re good, and recognizable even in their winter coats.’ Taking the sketch book to the light, he looked at it more closely. ‘And that’s marvellous of Little Chef.’
He gazed at Daisy with new respect. Drew had bought a lot of paintings since he married Sukey, because he liked them and expected them to shoot up in value. If Daisy could catch such vivid likenesses without being chocolate-boxy, she might well be worth investing in.
‘That’s good. That’s Kinta, dangerous brute. When’s Perdita coming home?’
‘Sometime in the New Year.’
Drew looked up sharply. ‘And the other children?’
‘They’re going to LA to my ex.’
‘You can’t stay here on your own.’
‘I’ve got Ethel,’ mumbled Daisy.
‘Not much of a guard dog.’ Drew filled up her glass again. ‘Don’t you get frightened by yourself?’
‘No,’ lied Daisy. ‘Anyway, I usually wear so many jerseys against the cold, any rapist would get dead bored before he managed to undress me. Lots of people asked me to stay, but Ethel’s a bit of a liability. She broke three Christopher Wray lamps and got into a chicken coop last time we went away.’
‘It’s all wrong. Come to us for Christmas dinner.’
Daisy’s eyes filled with tears.
‘You’re so kind, but honestly, I’ve got to paint.’
Putting a hand on her shoulder, Drew felt it trembling. ‘You’re not OK.’
Daisy gazed at the bubbles rising in her glass.
‘I’m getting better at being single,’ she mumbled, pleating her dark red skirt, ‘but my heart isn’t really in it. I’d love to find a man, but you never find mushrooms when you’re looking for them, do you? Anyway at my age you’d have to break a marriage up to get married yourself and I couldn’t do that, knowing how awful it was for me.’
Daisy’s cheeks were bright pink, but she was deathly white under her eyes, which were still red-rimmed from crying outside the bookshop. Her lovely soft mouth had nearly disappeared in her desperate attempt not to cry again.
Drew, who said nothing and went on stroking Ethel, had a reputation for coolness because he had an analytical mind and always thought before he spoke. Being in the Army for nine years had also given him a certain fixity of outlook, but he was extremely kind in a detached way, never took himself very seriously and was an excellent listener.
‘I bet you haven’t had any lunch,’ said Daisy leaping to her feet. ‘I’ll make us some scrambled eggs. Lots of people are like me,’ she rattled on. ‘There’s a frightfully pompous piece in the paper today saying the New Singleton is the emblematic, contemporary figure.’
Her hands shook so much she spilt most of the eggs as she cracked them on the edge of the bowl. Her coordination was so jiggered she could hardly manage to watch the toast and cook the eggs at the same time.
‘This piece rabbited on about always looking your best in case Mr Right Mark II came along, but I don’t see anyone except my awful boss and it seems silly looking smart while I’m painting or walking Ethel. D’you think the badgers would appreciate bright red lipstick to match a red scarf and taupe eyeshadow? Besides I don’t think anyone would put up with me now.’ She scraped the wooden spoon frantically against the bottom of the pan. ‘You get into such awful habits living alone. Talking to yourself, wiping your hands on your trousers. Oh, bugger, I’ve turned off the grill.’
‘I turned it off,’ said Drew. ‘I adore the way your bum judders when you stir those eggs,’ he added, turning off the gas as well, ‘and I like cold scrambled eggs.’
Next moment he had taken her in his arms.
‘Oh no,’ squeaked Daisy. ‘What about Sukey?’
‘Shut up,’ said Drew gently. ‘She’s at home making lists for Easter. I have a marriage of convenience. It was the only way I could play polo.’
The arctic-blue eyes which turned down at the corners were suddenly anything but cold. Daisy’s resolve weakened. ‘It’s still wrong.’
‘Hush, two wrongs make a Mr Right,’ said Drew and kissed her. Daisy was utterly lost. Until one kisses a man, one cannot tell if one truly desires him, and something melted inside Daisy and as Drew’s tongue coolly and languorously explored her mouth, her hands shot upwards to tangle in his fine silky hair, and then to feel the wonderful muscular strength of his shoulders. She was so taken by surprise that next moment she found herself upstairs. Thank goodness she’d changed the sheets that morning, Ethel hadn’t shredded a bone in her bed and there were more clothes on the chair than the floor.
‘Lovely room,’ said Drew, admiring the huge roses, peonies and delphiniums which Daisy had painted growing out of the skirting board. ‘It’ll be like screwing on the lawn on a summer evening.’
‘I haven’t slept with anyone for three years,’ mumbled Daisy in panic, as Drew slowly undid the buttons of her black cardigan, until he could drop an infinitely leisured kiss on her bare shoulder.
‘It’ll come back. It’s like riding a bicycle,’ whispered Drew as his hand slid round to the back to unhook her bra.
‘I’ll need stabilizers to start off with,’ said Daisy feeling wildly unstable.
‘Christ,’ said Drew lifting one heavy breast after another in delight, ‘they
And he really admired them from all angles before bending his head and kissing each nipple. As he slowly removed her skirt, her laddered tights, and her pants, grey as a dishcloth which ought to have been retired years ago, Daisy curled up with embarrassment.
‘I haven’t shaved my legs or anywhere else. I’m like an old ewe.’
‘The Welsh Guards were always known as the sheep shaggers. That’s better,’ he went on as Daisy laughed and as his warm hands moved over her body, just grazing the hairs, he had her leaping with desire. Still dressed, he sat beside her on the bed and stroked down her belly.
‘This is the only bit that needs cutting back,’ he said, parting her pubic hair and gently fingering. ‘All you need is a bit of spit and polish. Don’t hurry, my darling. I’ve no desire to get back to my mother-in-law.’
Daisy giggled, shuddered, tensed, came and then burst into tears. Appalled, Drew pulled her into his arms.
‘Darling, what’s the matter?’
‘I never came with Hamish,’ sobbed Daisy, ‘never in fifteen years, I never believed anything could be so lovely.’
‘Then we’d better make up for lost orgasms. It’s my turn next.’
Dreamily Daisy watched him undress. Apart from slightly bow legs and a shrapnel scar from the Falklands, he was wonderfully built – stocky and muscular without being fat. Even his cock seemed to have biceps as, with the ball of his thumb seldom far away from her clitoris, he drove her to extremes of joy. She was amazed anyone so phlegmatic could be such a sensitive, imaginative lover. He didn’t even mind when Ethel, unaccustomed to sex, and stumbling upon an unbelievably jolly romp, decided to join in with a great leap on the bed.
Afterwards, as she sat wrapped in a scratchy, dark blue towel watching Drew have a bath, Daisy said again that she felt quite awful about Sukey.
‘Don’t,’ said Drew, who certainly scrubbed himself very vigorously. ‘As long as she doesn’t find out, it won’t hurt her. Anyway, I’ve always had a crush on you.’
‘Me?’ said Daisy incredulously.
‘Ever since you got rained on the first time we met at the Pony Club, and I could have hung my polo hat on your nipples.’
‘A crush helmet,’ giggled Daisy.
